


The Monster of Arcadia

by lexaliciaclarkelyza



Category: IT - Stephen King, The 100 (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Artist Clarke Griffin, CLEXA LIVES, Child Abuse, Clexa, Drama, Engineer Raven, Eventual Smut, F/F, Feels, Fluff, IT AU, Nerd Lexa, PTSD, Protective Clarke Griffin, Two timelines, bellamy is a good big brother, blake sibling drama, it by stephen king crossover, it's pretty gay folks, leader clarke, lexa is a gay badass who absolutely melts for clarke, mention of suicide, murphy came out here to have a good time and is honestly feeling so attacked right now, pennywise alie, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 05:18:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13804251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lexaliciaclarkelyza/pseuds/lexaliciaclarkelyza
Summary: The small town of Arcadia, Maine is quiet, peaceful, and neighborly- on the outside. On the inside the people of Arcadia are self centered and embody everything evil about human nature, and what's not human- feasts on the children of Arcadia every 13 years while their parents bicker and blind themselves of the monster lurking beneath their feet...orThe It (Stephen King) au literally nobody asked for but it's one of my favorite books so it's happening sorryThis will be split between two timelines- 2005 and 2018 where the Freak Gang first fights the monster of Arcadia as children and return to do the same as adults





	The Monster of Arcadia

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is a prologue and doesn't actually include Lexa, Bellamy, Raven, Murphy, Octavia, or any of the characters other than Clarke, Charlotte, and mention of Abigail Griffin

Clarke Griffin would always associate a sense of sickening dread whenever she heard the melody of Beethoven's Fur Elise. The classic symphony would always haunt her like an unwanted spirit gnawing at her insides. For the rest of her life, until her ultimate passing from the living, she would perpetually hold that song in her head, as the song that her mother was playing the day that Charlotte died.

 

*********************************************************************************************

**October 2nd 2004**

 

It was a humid, rainy Autumn day, and Clarke Griffin felt like honest to god shit. Her head throbbed and muscles ached as her body begged her not to breathe to spare risking her comfort. She’d been in bed for what felt like an eternity, when in reality, it was a mere two and a half days. Granted, for a 12 year old, going on 13, this was a lifetime. Her pale, sickly skin was coated in a layer of sweat, chilling her to the bone while the many blankets that engulfed her kept her trapped in a miserable sauna. Her nose was a deep shade of red, raw from the countless tissues that met its surface in an attempt to rid herself of such a stubborn sickness.

The tissues in question, lay at her feet, covering the blanket atop of her in a mountain of paper and snot until you could hardly see the blue comforter buried below. Somewhere amidst the mess, a couple of ratty sketchbooks, both with spontaneous blank pages throughout, lay with dulled pencils, sharpened down to nubs. A couple of empty and near empty gatorade bottle lay scattered around her, and only god knows where, her TV remote hid from her view or grasp.

Not that she minded; she hadn’t intended on changing the channel from it’s marathon of horror movie classics. Skillfully positioned so that she would not have to witness the nightmare fuel, Charlotte sat on Clarke’s window bench, sketching a smiley face in the fog of her window produced by the outside downpour.

“Are you almost finished?”

She tried not to sound whiny, but her 6 year old heart was beating out of her chest as she anxiously awaited her elder sister to complete the paper boat she had been working so masterfully on.

Sucking up snot and gook that threatened to escape her nose and cringing as she felt it drain down the back of her throat, Clarke gave her dry, raspy answer, “You can’t rush perfection.” Had their relationship been like one of a usual sibling bond, Charlotte likely would have jeered her sister, pointing out that she sounded uncannily like a dying toad that had smoked it’s whole life. But Charlotte loved her sister very deeply, she admired her and cherished every moment spent with her, and she would never intentionally make her idol feel less than flawless.

Clarke pushed back greasy hair that had gone unwashed for as long as she’d come down with this miserable case of the flu. She admired her work for a moment before giving a painful sigh that pulled at her aching lungs. “I am done though.” Charlotte visibly lit up, her eyes sparkling as she came prancing to the side of her sister’s bed. “Well, almost.”

Charlotte’s face fell and she let out a disappointed huff to go along with her pout as she flopped her head onto her bed dramatically, giving an impatient groan. A strangled laugh from Clarke had her peaking back up at her sister curiously though. “You gotta name her.”

Clarke held back a giggle as her sister tilted her head in curiosity, not unlike a labrador.

“A name?”  
“Sure- every good boat has a name.”

Every good boat has a name. Charlotte contemplated her sisters wise words as she stared at the boat, pondering what to call it. She strained her brain for the perfect name, one to totally capture the perfection that this boat was to be made by Clarke Elizabeth Griffin. She stared intensely at the paper craft as if it would name itself if she leered hard enough.

“I can’t think of one,” the small blonde sighed in defeat.

“Hmm… Well I think you should call her the S.S. Charlie,” Clarke supplied.

“Ya think?” Bright eyes stared back at the sickly girl.

Rather than torturing her throat further, Clarke gave a nod to avoid speaking where she could. Charlotte looked back to the boat and smiled, grasping one of Clarke’s dulled pencils to gently scribe on it in messy lettering: “S . S . C H A R L I E”

When she was pleased with her work, she beamed back up to her sister, looking for her approval, receiving it in a mirrored grin. She stretched up onto the bed to hug Clarke tightly, who returned the embrace, opting to not inform her that she couldn’t breathe like this. Charlotte pushed back from her big sister to look her in the eyes, “You sure you don’t want to come with me?”

Clarke scoffed, rolling her eyes and slumping back against her headboard, “I would if I wasn’t dying.” Charlotte bristled on her behalf, shooting an insistent glare back at her elder sister, “You’re not dying!” She exclaimed with passion, upset by Clarke’s much unneeded hyperbole. Clarke laughed at her sister’s behavior and seeing her smile, Charlotte joined her in giggling along.

Clarke seemed to hold back from dismissing her sister, even though she knew she wouldn’t leave until given a cue to do so. Something felt wrong, and she longed to have her baby sister stay in bed with her and watch movies together rather than let her out into the world by herself. She shook away the thought though, knowing she used to get equally excited when it rained and that without her permission, Charlotte would not leave her side to enjoy herself.

“Okay, now get out of here. You’ve made me miss enough of this already.”

Charlotte gave one last loving look to her sister before crawling to hop off the bed, stealing a glance at the television before quickly averting her gaze from the horror that currently consumed the screen, unable to understand how exactly her sister enjoyed this stuff. Setting the thought aside, knowing she may never understand the workings of her sister’s brain, she grasped her paper boat carefully and went to turn the bedroom door handle, ready to be on her way.

“Hey-” Clarke called out, drawing Charlotte’s attention back to her. “--Be careful okay?”

Charlotte nodded with a reassuring smile before closing the door and hopping along her way. As Clarke sat alone with her thoughts for a moment, only the sounds of the tv and her mother’s piano playing accompanying her, she debated calling her sister back, knowing this was her last chance to do so before she went on her way. But realizing how selfish that would be, she ignored her wishes and grabbed a sketchbook and pencil to occupy her mind.

Charlotte skipped along outside in the rain, hopping in every puddle she saw, and giggling as she shuffled her rain boots in the flooded road. She set the S.S. CHARLIE down in the current of the stream of rainwater occupying the corner where the sidewalk met the road. The boat speed downstream with the current and Charlotte led out a gleeful squeal, hopping from puddle to puddle as she swiftly followed the boat. Clarke used to play with Charlotte in the rain, and their mother Abigail Griffin, the biggest doctor in the small town of Arcadia, would always remind them not to run in the rain, lest they risk falling and breaking their tailbones. Charlotte always found the idea ridiculous and amusing. Humans didn’t have tails! There was no bone to break! She completely missed her mother’s point of trying to prevent any injuries for her children. Had Charlotte not gotten so caught up with the idea of a human with a monkey tail, she would have heeded her mother’s caution more seriously and avoided losing her footing and scraping her elbow painfully on the hard, rough asphalt.

She curled up into a sitting position, cradling her elbow, and whimpering in pain. Adrenaline pumped in her veins from the excitement of the fall and grew increasingly manic when she processed the blood that was dripping down her forearm from her elbow, it’s severity amplified in appearance by the rain water that had it trickling pink streams from her elbow to the pavement. She let out a squeaky cry as she held her arm, wanting to go back home and let her mother take care of it before going to receive comfort from her sister. The thought of her sister had her eyes snapping open again though as she looked up to see her sister’s boat heading steadily towards a gutter.

The small blonde instantly forgot about the sting in her arm as she frantically got to her feet, panic flooding her thoughts as she chased after the boat desperately. She let out an anguished wail as she watched the boat drift down the gutter into the black leaving an out of breath Charlotte to lay on the asphalt, looking into the darkness as if she could find and retrieve it so that Clarke would never know the difference.

“Aaaaah!”

Charlotte suddenly flung herself back, recoiling from view of the drain, her heart thumping wildy and stomach in anxious knots as she tried to make sense of what she saw. There had been bright, glowing golden eyes, staring back at her when she looked in the drain. It was an animal. It had to be an animal- right? The unknown of just what kind of animal though had Charlotte crawling back in fear, ready to flee. That was when she heard the voice- the sweet, song-bird like voice.

“Hi Charlotte,”

Shock and confusion shot through Charlotte as she tried to make sense of the scene presented to her. Hesitantly, with full reluctance, she leaned back forward to look in the drain, silently cursing her curiosity.

She gasped and withdrew back again, but not as far when she saw the affirmation that there really were eyes down there. But something about them seemed different enough to draw her back in again. When she looked once more, she saw not evil, golden eyes of a monster, but soft, chocolate brown eyes that reminded her of her mother’s warm, comforting gaze.

She couldn’t believe her eyes, there was a nice looking lady in the storm drain! She had soft looking, long, dark brown hair and a kind looking face. Her most defining feature was not her crimson red dress that made the whole sight that much more outlandish, but her cool disposition that made Charlotte unsure of whether to feel intimidated or welcomed. She refrained from jumping again as her instincts told her to when the nice looking lady smiled pleasantly at her.

“Would you like your boat back?”

She held up Clarke’s paper boat in a slender, gentle looking hand. The sight had Charlotte’s heart leap with relief and excitement. “Y-yeah!” She reached her hand forward, only to quickly withdraw it with a disappointed frown- “I’m not supposed to take things from strangers… My mom says so…”

Rather than appearing galled as Charlotte expected her to, the nice looking lady in red simply gave a calm, understanding smile back at her. “That’s very wise of your mother. She seems like a smart lady.”  
Charlotte’s expression lit up again as she reengaged with the nice lady in the drain, “She sure is! She’s the best doctor in Arcadia! Dr. Griffin!”

The woman’s brows lifted slightly in admiration, “Oh, how lovely, you must be very proud of her.” Charlotte giggled. Sure she was, but being proud of someone was something parents and teachers did not kids. A moment passed before Charlotte met the nice lady’s gaze again and received another warm smile.

“Well, I suppose the only way to remedy this little problem of ours is to introduce ourselves. My name is Allie, and I’d love to be your friend Charlotte. Do you want to be my friend too?...”

*******************

Back in bed at the Griffin household, Clarke sighed as she tried and failed to copy the idea in her head onto paper, seeming like she couldn’t ever get it just right. She was about ready to give up and just get some sleep and allow the opening and closing of the front door to alert her of Charlotte’s return, when a soft screech stirred her. She looked up at the tv, having forgotten it was on. She blinked at the screen, pausing for a moment before groaning as she got out of bed to turn the tv off, resigning to the fact that she would never find her remote. As she got back in bed, she stole a glance up at the window where Charlotte’s smiley face had faded away. She continued to stare a moment longer before finally allowing sleep to overtake her, rolling on her side and slipping into rest.

What Clarke did not know at the time, and would likely never realize, is that the screech she heard was not a product of the movie, but rather the final wail of desperation from her younger sister a few blocks down. Many people were using the sound of the rain to lull themselves to sleep and did not notice the screech either, or brushed it off as a cat or something of their imagination. Had Clarke realized that the movie was at a point of peace, where no screaming was involved; had Clarke realized that the screech was far too real to be a cheap product of hollywood; had Clarke simply looked a little closer through her window for a moment longer- maybe she would have noticed the small form of her baby sister, being dragged into the sewers, with blood draining down with her, by an unnamed monster that would one day come to change her life forever.


End file.
